Snow
by ladybrit
Summary: Pure adventure with a stage coach hold up, bank robbery, gunfights and chases across the prairie.
1. Chapter 1

**Snow**

Chapter 1

So this was how it felt. Somehow it wasn't so bad. The cold had numbed his senses along with his fingers and toes, in fact the cold had penetrated his very being. His brain kept ordering parts of him to move, to find shelter or he would die out here alone and forgotten. On reflection that option did not seem so bad. He tried once more to move but the bullet lodged in his hip refused to allow any significant change in position. In addition the beating that Yancy's men had inflicted on him did not make things any easier. He had to admit that all the effort he had put into escaping from the outlaw gang had been in vain. For a while it had worried him, made him angry with Yancy, angry with himself and then even with the Almighty.

That feeling had passed now and acceptance was setting in. Death was not so bad anyway. He had been riding the prairie dodging people who were out to get him, for too long now. His body was tired and, he had to admit it, there had been too many years of rough living. He had been a young man when all this started, a young man with hopes and aspirations but somehow they had all been buried by his choices. It had all been a dream, he looked back on it now, just a foolish dream. How much much did he seriously think one young man with lofty ideals could accomplish? It didn't matter, he could sleep now, no need to wake up. A woman's face kept appearing before his half closed eyes, a woman he had loved but never married. Nothing he could do about that now, his own foolishness had destroyed his dreams. He tried to let his body drift into that final rest. The cold ceased to be so bitter, it was acting as a comfort now, numbing his mind and body as he gave into it's welcoming embrace. Slowly he managed to reach his hand towards his shirt, his fingers searching for the badge that had been there. Then the sad realization that it was gone. He remembered now, the deep sense of loss that had come over him when he had to give it up. He would not have its comfort even in death.

He must have laid there for hours. The darkness of night had been replaced by a slight warming as the early streaks of dawn cracked the horizon. Not that he could see that far, but it didn't matter. The light was relentless and forced its way through his closed eyelids making him stir into a slow, painful awakening. At first he thought that his life must have ended and he was preparing to meet his maker, but as consciousness continued to force its way through him, he knew that could not be so. He felt pain, a terrible burning pain in his hip and and even the slightest movement caused a shock of lightning to travel all the way down towards a foot he could no longer feel. The first time it happened he was not prepared and a scream he barely recognized as his own, pierced the cold air. Now all he could do was to wait for the end.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Snow.

Chapter Two

Two weeks earlier.

Marshal Matt Dillon had made his last rounds later than usual that night. He couldn't tell why, but for some reason he had a feeling that things were not quite right. He had an uneasy sensation which made him be more careful than usual every time he crossed an alley or walked into a darkened space to check that a back door was locked or that a window had not been left open. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but the feeling persisted.

Matt Dillon had been a United States Marshal for almost eight years, and in that fact alone he had already beaten the odds. His territory included some of the most untamed regions on the rim of a growing country, slowly making its way west. New settlers were moving in and the old time trappers and hunters who had been here for decades were fighting against the expanding progress of civilization.

Dillon's office was in Dodge City, the wildest of all the towns along the 'new frontier' and from there he tried to enforce the rule of law and promote peace amongst the inhabitants. It was not an easy task. All manner of people who opposed justice seemed to head his way alongside the honest men who were just seeking new opportunities for their lives and those of their families. Gunslingers, bank robbers, cattle rustlers and a host of other "spoilers" were drawn to this new life. It was his job to weed out the bad seeds so the others could flourish and that was not always an easy task. He was well aware that every time he stepped out of his office into the street he was a potential target for anyone who had a gun and wanted to prove something. Somehow he had been lucky to survive this long. It was not all luck of course. He had several advantages over other men. Firstly his stature and strength were naturally intimidating and many times these factors alone had caused a crazed cowboy, overloaded with liquor, to back down. He also had a natural ability with a gun. Of course this ability had been honed by hours of practice during his younger days. Even now he would go out alone onto the prairie so he could spend time firing at cans, bottles or other objects, just to keep his eye accurate and his draw fast. Most of all though he had a sixth sense about danger, he would often feel it in the air long before anything happened. That was the feeling he had now.

He walked farther along Front Street, making his way to the stage depot. The late night arrival from Pueblo was supposed to be in at midnight but Charlie the clerk had received word that it was delayed and would be about 3 hours late. Nothing too unusual about that, even so he walked around behind the building searching for anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly there was a noise accompanied by the clatter of falling boxes coming from a dark corner. He was alert at once, heart rate increasing and gun automatically in his hand.

"Come out from there with your hands up!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the cold darkness.

Somewhat unsteadily an old drifter he had seen in the Texas Trail earlier that evening, tried to rise to his feet.

"Don't shoot Marshal, I don't have a gun." The man's anxious words were slurred by alcohol.

Matt smiled to himself as he holstered his gun. He hated to see the old drunk sleeping outside on a night like this.

"Come on Jimmie, you can sleep it off in the jail tonight. It'll be warmer than out here."

He got the feeble drifter to his feet then helped him along the boardwalk towards the office where he eased him into one of the cells. The rusty cot may not be all that comfortable, but it would be better for the old man than being out in the weather. Having covered him with a blanket he locked the cell door - more out of habit than because the occupant was a danger to anyone. He planned to feed him breakfast in the morning before sending him on his way.

The Marshal left the old drunk asleep and went to check the bank which so far he had missed. After that he had another important stop to make.

ooo000ooo

It was later than usual by the time he got back to the Long Branch and headed up the back stairs to Kitty's room. She was beginning to wonder where he had got to. He didn't say much in way of explanation - how could you explain a "feeling" that all was not as it should be, especially when he found nothing wrong or out of place. As far as he could tell the whole town was locked up tight and apart from the old drifter he'd found, no one else was out on the street.

He stayed talking for a while, sitting on the well worn settee where they had spent many evenings before. The brandy tasted good and he was warm and comfortable. Something still nagged at his mind, however, and although he climbed into bed alongside the saloon owner, he could not sleep. Several times she asked him what was the matter. Of course his reply was "Nothing, everything's alright, just go to sleep." Eventually he did admit that he had a feeling, and that was all it was, just a sensation that something wasn't quite as it should be. He had been around the town twice and found nothing out of the ordinary so it must just be his imagination.

It was about three hours later when he decided he could lay there no longer. He got up from the bed carefully so as not to disturb the woman by his side, and dressed in the dark. Then, taking his hat and gun belt from the peg by the door, he headed out to Front Street once more.

His first stop was the office to check on the drifter, who he found sound asleep and snoring loudly. If the clerk had been right the west bound stage would be coming in soon so he made his way to the depot. The air was cold in these early hours and he began to regret not wearing his coat. He even thought of going back to the office to get it, but before doing so decided to make one more circuit of the town starting at the bank. He was walking briskly along the boardwalk in the direction of the bank when he thought for an instant he saw a light coming from that direction. It could have been inside the bank. He blinked his eyes but it was gone. He stood still for a minute, hiding himself in the shadows waiting to see if it would repeat, but it never did. He drew his pistol from the leather holster on his hip and made his way towards the building, staying hidden in the darkness as much as possible.

Everything seemed fine. The bank was quiet and all the doors were locked just like they should be. He was sure he had seen a light coming from inside the building, but had he? His eyes could have played tricks - after all he had had very little sleep in the last 24 hours. He thought about breaking the glass in the front door and gaining entrance that way. In fact he had already turned the colt peacemaker in his hand so as to use the grip as a hammer when he heard the noise of the east bound stage approaching. He changed his mind, and returned the gun to its leather holster. It was more important to see what had delayed the stage and who was arriving in town. He took one more look through the small part of the window that was not covered by blinds and stood watching and listening for a moment. He must have been mistaken earlier. Right now he could neither hear nor see anything abnormal.

Meantime the incoming stage had arrived at the depot. As usual with night time arrivals, it was driven around back of the depot. With long strides he headed that way. There were two men riding on the box, a driver and shotgun. Dillon did not recognize either of them. That was strange because he knew most of the regular drivers who came through Dodge.

He knew something was wrong, just that feeling again. There were two passengers waiting to board and at least 2 already inside the coach.

Suddenly the side door to the bank slammed open and two men appeared carrying a large box. He was about to step forward when the coach door opened and a woman was roughly pushed out followed quickly by a man carrying a gun. He had one arm around her throat and pointed the gun to her head. It was too dark behind the depot for Dillon to recognize faces, but even in the shadows he could tell that this was a big man, almost as tall as himself but built a lot heavier. More like a bear. He daren't rush forward and risk the woman's life, so he approached carefully trying to blend into the darkness. He watched as two of the men lifted the heavy box into the coach.

"Anyone tries to stop us and she's dead," the big man with the gun called out. Even his voice was so deep that it sounded more like the growl of a bear.

"You two passengers just walk away and no one gets hurt."

Apparently the man spotted Dillon hidden in the shadows and he fired. Fortunately the shot went wide.

"Whoever you are mister, you need to leave now," the voice continued. "If you don't her body will be left lying in the street."

Matt said nothing, he knew there wasn't much he could do right now. Best to let them get out of town where there were not so many people around. He could follow them and have a better chance.

The horses looked fresh, they couldn't have been driven far, that meant someone was helping them just outside of town.

The driver was already scrambling back on to the box. He was a tall skinny man. Even in the dim light of the alley Dillon could make out his sharp hawk like face. The man picked up the whip and released the brake. In a few moments the stage was moving full speed, heading west, the direction from which it had come.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

Snow

Chapter 3

Pete Turner had not been a outlaw all his life. He had a fairly normal childhood and, mostly because of his mother's insistence, managed to do fairly well in school. As a youth he had tried many ways to make a living, herding cattle, dealing Faro and had even worked on the railroad for a while. As he grew into manhood he became very self assured and women seemed to find him attractive, in fact he discovered that even the most beautiful girls from respectable families were his for the taking. It was because of a woman that he crossed the line to the wrong side of the law.

She was a dark eyed Mexican girl from a town just north of the border. She was more alive than all the other girls he had ever met. The instant he had seen her working in the small cantina, her brown eyes and flashing smile won his heart. When she called him Pedro with a seductive roll of her tongue he felt his knees go weak. He courted her for six months while he worked on a nearby cattle ranch trying to save enough money to marry. All that time she had been his friend, his woman and his lover. He knew she was faithful just to him.

He would take her on buggy rides in the evening and sometimes she would bring a picnic lunch out to the ranch where he worked. They would sit together by the small creek that wound its way across the property, and eat.

Perhaps he had been naive, maybe it was his limited experience with women but one evening he stopped at the Cantina to surprise her. He had worked hard and saved money to buy her a ring. It was a delicate gold band with a small dark stone mounted in a simple setting. He just knew she would be excited to see him and he couldn't wait to give her the gift that he had spent his hard earned money on. As he rode up he heard loud music and singing coming from the Cantina, it was the only gathering place in this small crossroads town. There must be some kind of event going on. She had always insisted he tell her when he planned to visit her in the evenings, just so she could arrange her work schedule, she explained. Surely she would be able to take a few minutes away from waiting tables to talk to him. He had tied his horse to the rail and entered the building which was crowded with people he had never seen before. One familiar figure in the corner had noticed him and with a lopsided grin told him that Rosita was busy, he should come back tomorrow. Even then the boy did not understand. He figured she was cooking in the small kitchen outback so went around the building to find her.

He saw the dress first. Her dress with its delicate embroidery around the hem. A trail of undergarments lead on from there. He feared something had happened to her and followed headlong calling her name. He almost tripped over her there in the bushes in the arms of a man old enough to be her father. A rich man who owned a nearby ranch, a man who had a wife and family. She called to him, trying to tell him he didn't understand, but all he could see was a red fire burning in front of his eyes. He drew his gun and fired twice, both bullets hit their mark and two bodies lay there before him. He took the small box with the ring from his pocket and threw it at her. All he could do then was to run.

The door to the Cantina was already open and the yellow light from the old oil lamps was spilling out onto the ground. Almost immediately footsteps and voices followed. He had to leave, they must not catch him here. He ran back to his horse, grabbing the reins from the rail and jumping on the back of the animal as he urged it forward. Away into the darkness he rode, unaware of any direction or intention, just run, get away, they'll catch you, it wasn't your fault. All these things raced through his mind in rhythm with the uncontrolled gallop of the horse's hooves. They moved as one into the darkness, trying to get lost, to get away from the evil she had caused.

To begin with he heard sounds of horses following, but eventually that faded behind him until at last there was silence. The horse and rider were both exhausted and as the animal slowed down by a small stream he dismounted and washed his face in the cool water trying to clear his head.

He had no idea where he was or which way he had come. He could see some low hills outlined in the distant darkness but nothing to help him get his bearings. Even the stars were blocked by a heavy cover of cloud. He slowed his breathing enough to where he could make himself think. His only option was to head south into Mexico where the law couldn't reach him. He was mad at himself and at the girl who had forced him into this situation, now his life would be spent on the run. He would wait for the first light of dawn and then ride south.

ooo000ooo

For two years Pete Turner lived south of the border. He changed his name frequently and never stayed in one place for long. He managed to pick up menial day jobs here and there just earning enough to get by. Occasionally he would sit in on a poker game in some small town saloon because work was difficult to come by. Strangely the math his mother had made him study came in useful and usually he managed to come out ahead by a few dollars. He was careful never to win enough for people to remember him. Eventually using the name Hank Starr he travelled north of the border once more and kept on riding until he reached Colorado.

Feeling fairly safe now he signed on as a hand at the Triple L ranch, which was located in the southwest corner, not too far from the Nations just incase he had to run again. The work was hard but the pay was good and better still no one recognized him. He had developed a sandy colored beard and let his hair grow longer than normal. He had been tall and gangly in his youth but by now he had filled out a little and the tough work he did had added muscle to his slender frame.

He was in his mid twenties and, thinking that the past life he had led was long forgotten. He began to consider settling down. Several times he had been sent to the trading post that had developed on the site of Bent's Old Fort, to pick up supplies for the ranch house. There was a young lady working in the freight office who caught his eye. He had made advances to her and she had responded with a flirtatious batting of her dark eyes. The eyes reminded him of Rosita, but there the similarity ended. This girl was tall with light brown, almost blond, hair that she wore in a simple braid hanging over her shoulder and tied with a dark ribbon.

The freight company was owned by a big burly man by the name of Bart Yancy. Business seemed to be good because the man owned several wagons and at least four horse teams. He had three drivers who worked for him full time and was looking for a fourth. Nina, the young lady Pete was attracted to, began to ask him questions about who he was, where had he worked before and didn't he want to get a better job than working as a ranch hand. Somehow he started working for Yancy at first stacking boxes, taking care of the horses and then as a driver. The pay was good and the instructions simple - he was there to drive the wagons. They were to be loaded by others and he nor anyone else, was to touch the contents. Yancy's clients did not want their stuff messed with was the explanation for that.

He had been working there for almost nine months when the local sheriff - an old man almost ready to retire, announced that he was looking for a younger deputy. It would be part time work and the pay was not great, but a man could do it and still have time to work another job. Nina talked him into applying and somehow it wasn't long before he began wearing a badge. At first he felt strange working on the side of the law because he knew what lay in his past, but then he managed to put that behind him and actually began to feel pride in the job. As promised there was not much to do, it was a small town with no large saloons or banks, in fact Yancy's business was the biggest thing around.

Everything seemed to be going well for Pete, now known as Hank Starr. Christmas and New Year came and went. There were some large gatherings of local people celebrating the holidays and he was asked, as Deputy, to hang around and take care of any party goers who got too drunk and out of hand. He got paid well for those events.

It was almost spring before he first had a suspicion that all was not as he thought.

There were still a few functioning mines in the surrounding mountains and from time to time large shipments of gold or silver would pass through the town on their way to one of the bigger banks in Denver. Sometimes Yancy had the contract to make the final delivery. This shipment would be different. It had left Cimarron in Kansas and using the mountain branch of the Santa Fe trail it would make its way to Fort Lyon. From there it would head through town without stopping, on its way to Denver. The Sheriff had no idea what was so special about this shipment, but something important must be on it. The Sheriff had been informed of its arrival so that he could provide some limited protection while it passed through Bent's Old Fort. That was how Pete became involved.

He never did understand why Nina was so interested in his job as deputy Sheriff. She and Bart Yancy had both encouraged him to take it and now she wanted to know what it was all about. He didn't see any harm in telling her about the shipment, of course he warned her first that it was secret and no one else must know.

Pete knew the army would provide some kind of escort for the shipment, but even so his boss had asked him to ride along behind just to make sure all went well as it passed through their jurisdiction and out the other side. It had arrived early in the morning and he had followed it for three hours. It was well beyond the town limits and he figured all was well. That afternoon Yancy had a job for him that took him in the opposite direction. He thought nothing of it at the time.

It was two days later that news got back to the Sheriff's Office that the shipment never arrived in Denver. It and the men guarding it had just vanished. The army was sending out a search party and the Sheriff asked Pete to ride out from the town and see if there were any signs to indicate what had happened. He was barely outside the city limits when Bart Yancy came riding towards him.

At first he wondered what his boss was doing out this way, but Yancy made it clear that the deputy should go no further, at least for today. Tomorrow would be better.

At first he did not understand, he tried to move around Yancy as the man blocked the trail.

"I know who you are," Yancy announced. "Don't think for a minute that I hired some little ranch hand because I was doing a favor. I know about the Mexican girl and the old rancher you killed. It's quite funny because I am also the one who got you that job with the law."

Pete just sat and looked and him. "How did you know? You never said anything."

"I figured you would be of use to me someday."

"But what do I tell the Sheriff?"

"Not much at all. You just camp out here tonight then ride back to town tomorrow and tell him you found nothing."

Pete started to protest, he had become quite attached to his job as a lawman.

"Just remember, one word from me and you will be swinging at the end of a rope."

Yancy started to turn and head back towards town but changed his mind for a moment and spun around to face the deputy once more.

"You'd better be back in town tomorrow. Don't think of running off somewhere. That rope will find you no matter where you hide."

He spun his horse around once more then spurred him on, heading towards town.

Pete watched him leave. As he turned the situation over in his mind he understood that Nina, either wittingly or unwittingly had told Yancy of the shipment. He also understood a lot more about Yancy's freight business. A certain amount was legitimate, hauling goods here and there for different people, but there was some that he had always wondered about. And then, as he thought more about it, there were one or two of the other drivers whose faces he could well have seen on wanted circulars in the Sheriff's office.

He set up a small camp under cover of a few sparse trees and thought more about his situation. Yancy had set him up and now he was trapped. He knew there was only one thing he could do. He would have to go on the run again, only this time he would have both Yancy and the law after him.

He had grown to respect the old Sheriff he worked for and even began taking a pride in the badge he wore. Surprisingly he found a deep satisfaction in helping keep a peaceful town and enforcing laws that made it possible for people to live and raise families without fear of being robbed or shot. Sadly that would be over now. He was a murderer and had no right to wear that star. He hardly slept that night, berating himself for being a coward and hating Yancy for making a fool out of him at the same time.

He returned to town the next morning, avoiding Yancy and Nina. Two days later he went apologetically to the see his boss, the Sheriff. He explained that he had to leave for a while, a cousin needed his help. He shook hands with the man who had been good to him and had really shown him what kind of a life he could have had if things from his past had only been different. Reluctantly he handed over his badge and headed east towards the nations.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Snow

Chapter 4

Marshal Dillon was on the road almost before the first rays of dawn were breaking the horizon behind him. He had taken time to return to the Long Branch and give Kitty a brief account of what had happened. He didn't like the idea of telling her that he was heading out to trail a gang of bank robbers, but figured that was better than the alternative course of action he had considered, that of just leaving and telling no one where he was going .

The trail left by the stage was easy to follow at first, but about 15 miles from town there was a crossroads and tracks led everywhere. He got down from his horse and squatted on the ground trying to figure out which way it had gone, but to no avail. He did see many prints from shod horses, but again they went in so many different directions that it was impossible to identify any of them. He could not get the image of the woman being held at gunpoint, out of his mind. The outlaw holding the gun to her head had been a big man, almost as tall as himself. He began to wonder if he had made the right decision in allowing them to leave town. Maybe he should have tried to shoot the man holding her - but the outlaw would have had time to pull the trigger and kill the woman before he fell to the ground.

He sat in the saddle thinking for a minute or two, allowing his horse to walk in widening circles, while he surveyed the ground beneath him. Eventually having found nothing he decided to head on to the relay station about two hours ride ahead.

oo000oo

As the stagecoach left Dodge City behind, Bart Yancy gave a raucous laugh and put his gun away.

"You were just great Nina. Those people back there really believed you were scared."

The girl was sitting on the seat facing the direction of travel. She frowned at Yancy.

"I told you I was good, didn't I?"

Yancy pointed to two sets of saddle bags on the seat beside her, and looked at the other occupant of the coach, a man with a dark mustache on his upper lip, who had worked for him for a long time.

"We need to get this money ready to travel."

It was not easy to transfer the bank notes because of the swaying of the coach, but somehow they managed it without losing any. Just about the time they finished the coach stopped and the driver was calling down to Yancy.

"We're here boss, the horses are just ahead through those trees. What do you want me to do with the coach?"

Yancy climbed down from the stage, bulging saddle bags slung over his left shoulder. They seemed to be miles from anywhere, but he knew that over to the left was a small grove of trees where fresh horses where waiting.

There was no time to waste, Bart Yancy was smart enough to know that someone would be trailing them and probably would only be an hour or so behind. He gave a small amount of money to each of his men, telling them to split up and make their way back to the ranch. He turned and pushed Nina up onto the smaller of the remaining horses, then returned to the coach, released the hand break and took a few steps back from the team. He took out his pistol and fired four shots at the horses feet - not hitting them, just enough to scare them. As he predicted they took off running. If anyone was trailing them, that would give them some tracks to follow for a while. He turned back to Nina.

"Come along my dear, we have a long ride back to the ranch."

She frowned at him, and having no choice but to obey, she followed the man she had come to hate.

ooo000ooo

Dillon had continued along the route the Overland Stage would have taken. From time to time he dismounted and studied the ground looking for any sign of a trail to follow. Once or twice he found evidence of a coach or wagon passing this way but there was no way to tell if it was the right one.

He continued on. By now the winter sun was nearing its highest point in the sky and the coat he had needed early that morning was becoming uncomfortably hot. He stopped by a small clump of trees that bordered a shallow creek and dismounted, planning to get a drink of water for himself and his horse.

The water was cold and sweet as he doused his face and took a swallow. Then he stood up to lead his horse to the creek's edge. He looked around while the animal began to drink and became aware of a noise upstream from where he stood. His hand automatically went to the holster by his hip and he stepped back into the cover of the bushes.

The noise came again, something or someone was struggling. He left his hiding place and started along the bank to see what was happening. He held the peacemaker in his hand and eased his way along. Suddenly something burst through the scrub ahead of him. He was ready to fire, but relaxed as he saw the cause of the commotion. Two horses, still held together by what remained of the rigging from the stage. There had been a team of four when they left Dodge. He looked around, but couldn't see the others. The horses made their way to the water and despite the restrictions of the lines and part of the doubletree still attached, they managed to drink. Carefully he worked his way towards them, circling up on the shoulder of the animal nearest him. He began speaking in soft quiet tones.

"Easy now, that's right, let me help you." Finally he was able to lay a hand on the sweaty neck of the nearest horse, "Where's the rest of the team, huh?"

He removed the collars and traces and remains of the tree and threw what was left of the lines around their necks. He led them back to where his own horse was patiently waiting. At first he had thought the horses were from the relay station, but noticed brands on their hips, Circle T. That belonged to old man Thomas who at one time had had a pretty good business selling horses to the army. His wife died about a year ago and his kids were grown and gone, but still he lived alone out at the old place he had built long before Dillon ever came to Dodge. As far as he remembered the ranch was about ten miles ahead just north of the river. He put his left foot in the stirrup and swung his right leg over the saddle and started off in that direction, leading the two stage horses.

As he rode he tried to put the puzzle pieces together. Somehow the gang that had robbed the bank, had taken the Overland stage and hitched up a fresh team of horses at Thomas's place. It seemed unlikely that the old man was in league with the outlaws. As far as Matt knew the man was just a horse trader who had never crossed the law..

He saw no one about as he rode up to the ranch. There were two corrals to one side of the house and one out back. Two horses were in the first one he came to, the others were empty. He could see that the water trough was dry and there was no hay for the animals. A man like Thomas would not leave his stock uncared for like that. He turned the two horses he had in hand into the corral with the others, then found a bucket and pumped some water to fill the trough. The animals were thirsty - no telling how long they had been like that. He watched them drink for a minute or two then went to the small storage barn behind the corral to find hay for them.

All the time he worked, there was no movement from the house. He was concerned that the old man might have been taken sick, but it was a more gruesome sight that greeted him when he opened the door and went inside. Thomas was there, his head covered in dried blood where he had been savagely beaten. He walked back into the sleeping area and found two more bodies, both shot in the head. One he recognized as a driver who worked for the Overland Company, the other he did not know. It was a young boy, probably about 15. He had never seen him before but a quick search through his pockets revealed a few dollars in cash and a letter addressed to a Jerry Hillman, Pueblo, Colorado. He put the money in with the letter and stuffed the envelope into his vest pocket. He would hand them over to the stage company later.

Matt hated to see the results of violence and killing. He had lost count of how many men - and women - he had dug graves for over the years. As he dug three more he promised himself and any deity listening, that he would track down the people responsible for these.

By the time he had finished the burying, it was already evening. The sun was low in the sky and the air had grown cold. Once more he mounted his horse and now with four in tow, made his way back to Dodge.

ooo000ooo

It turned out that the robbers had got away with almost $50,000. A man from Denver had been sending the funds East to complete a business deal. It was supposed to have been loaded on the Santa Fe the night of the robbery, but the train had been delayed, so instead it was placed in the bank overnight. It had all happened at the last minute and somehow he had not been told about the large amount of money sitting in the bank safe. The outlaws had broken into the bank and then waited for the hijacked stage to arrive. Matt blamed himself for some of that. He had caught a quick glimpse of a light through the window of the bank that night, but had convinced himself it was nothing. If he had acted he could have caught the robbers right there. Of course that would not have saved Ol' Man Thomas and the other two men he had buried that afternoon.

He spent three more days combing the prairie west of Dodge, looking for signs or tracks that might tell him where the robbers went, or even a hint as to who they were. He had Chester going through all the wanted circulars for the last three years, pulling out any whose past crimes matched the robbery or described either of the men he had seen on the stagecoach. So far there was nothing.

He was riding home in the fading light of the sun setting behind him after another unsuccessful day. Maybe the lengthening shadows emphasized it, but off to his right, half hidden by brush was a square shape that should not have been there. He got down to investigate and found the stagecoach lying on its side. It was obvious from the damaged front that the two remaining horses from the four hitch had managed to break loose. No telling where they were now. He climbed up onto the side of the coach and looked in through the window before carefully lowering himself inside. A quick search revealed very little. The box that had contained the money was empty, there was no blood on the seats, no sign of a struggle, nothing to help him figure what happened or who was involved.

He felt a bitter chill in the air as he rode back to town. These last few days had worn him down and the cold air made it worse. He was pleased to see Chester waiting for him to return. The jailer had been watching out the window and stepped forward to take his horse.

"I'll put him up for you Mr. Dillon. I left some hot coffee on the stove for ya, and some of those posters you had me look through."

Dillon handed over his horse and walked gratefully into the meager warmth provided by the old pot belly stove in the corner of the office. As usual it was giving off more smoke than heat. With coffee mug occupying one hand he sat down behind the desk and pulled the small collection of circulars that Chester had sorted, towards him with the other. There were several bank robberies by different gangs and one describing a tall man, wanted for murder, and last seen in Missouri. None of them were particularly helpful.

He finished the coffee and stood up, stretching his back. Four days in the saddle had taken their toll. He was tired and discouraged. Chester would be back soon and he didn't particularly want to hold a conversation with the jailer. He picked up his hat and made his way out the door. It was just about time to make his late evening rounds.

ooo000ooo

He was tired, cold and miserable when he climbed the outside steps to the second floor of the Long Branch.

Kitty Russell heard the key turn in the lock and knew without asking that it had been another unsuccessful day.

"Come on in Matt." She stepped forward to meet him, helping him off with his coat and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.

He didn't say much. She knew he never did when things weren't going right.

"Any luck today?" She knew the answer but had to ask anyway.

There was no immediate reply.

"Come on, sit by the stove and warm up, it must be getting cold out there." She walked over the dresser where she kept a selection of glasses and wines. Carefully she poured a generous shot of whisky and took it back to him.

"I saved some sandwiches from lunch, thought you might be hungry."  
He was but he wasn't ready to eat.

"I did find the stagecoach today," he confessed after taking a swallow of the amber liquid. "It didn't help much though. Nothing there to tell me who these people are. I still can't believe that they could disappear without a trace."

He kept thinking about the woman he had seen held at gunpoint. He had not found her body so he hoped she was still alive. Of course that might not be so good for her either. He should have tried to save her that night. More guilt.

Kitty tried to be practical. She could see him blaming himself for what had happened.

"Why didn't Botkin tell you about the money? He usually does if there is a big deposit at the bank."

"Apparently he didn't know anything about it till the last minute. A couple of Pinkerton men had been hired to supervise the transfer of about fifty thousand dollars for some big banker in Denver. They were tasked with taking it back east for a business deal that needed to be kept private. Thinking about how it was handled, I'm not totally sure it was all honest business, but they were supposed to catch the Santa Fe out of here that evening. Unfortunately the train was delayed so they lodged it in the bank overnight intending to leave the next morning. when the train finally arrived."

"Do you think they had anything to do with it?"

Dillon thought carefully while he took another mouthful of the whisky.

"I don't know. I have talked to them several times and I think they are honest. I am more concerned with why the Santa Fe was delayed. The clerk told me some signal further down the line got jammed and everything was held up till it could be fixed. It happens often enough, but it was very convenient this time."

"You going out again tomorrow."

The Marshal passed a weary hand across his forehead.

"I don't know. I've covered most of the trails west of Dodge. Not sure where else I can look."

She smiled at him and rubbed his arm.

"Maybe you should just eat a little and then get some sleep."

It sounded like a good idea, especially when suggested by the redhead sitting next to him.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Snow

Chapter 5

Pete rode hard until late in the night trying to put as much distance between himself and the town of Bent's Old Fort, the sheriff and more importantly Bart Yancy. He figured he could hide out in the Nations for a while and no one would come searching for him. It was still summer and there was plenty of game available for food. A man could live out here for a long time - as long as he avoided the Comanche.

He set up a small campsite, fairly well hidden and near water. It was not the life he had hoped for and it made him think how that one hasty moment several years ago had totally changed his life. His brief time as a Deputy had been good. Admittedly there was not a lot to do, deliver a few documents here and there and serve one or two court papers. Other than that trying to help local businesses resolve their problems and keep the small town growing and safe had been satisfying. He felt like he was doing something worthwhile. If it wasn't for his past he might have though of trying for the post of Sheriff one day. Of course that was over now. Now he had nothing to look forward to except life on the run or a noose around his neck.

He lived like this for what he thought was roughly four months. He was running out of shells for his rifle and needed a few supplies like coffee and beef jerky. He couldn't risk going south into Texas, or west back to Colorado. To the North lay Kansas. He knew very little about that state except that it was wild and open. He had heard that there was a US Marshal based in Dodge City who tried to keep law and order there and in the rest of the state, but one man couldn't be everywhere. He figured Kansas was his best bet. Specifically the small town of Liberal, he doubted there would be any law looking for him there.

ooo000ooo

Pete Turner looked like any other trail weary drifter as he rode into Liberal. The season was already turning from fall to winter and he wondered if it would be safe enough for him to stay around for a few weeks.

Liberal could hardly be classed as a town, but it did have a livery stable, a bar and a bank. More notably there was no law officer of any type. One somewhat seedy looking boarding house was located at the far end of town and using some of his remaining money, he paid a weeks rent in advance. The room was small and not very clean, but it did have a bed and a door that locked.

He washed up, shaved, dusted off his clothes and went looking for a job. No one seem to recognize him and his confidence grew. Maybe he could stay here for the winter, it would be better than living out on the prairie. He finished up finding evening work at the saloon. Saloon was a compliment to the structure which was little more than a tent with a bar set up across several whisky barrels, at one end. The pay wasn't good either, but maybe he could find something better later.

The saloon was a sleazier place than he imagined. There were two girls who worked there, both well past an age to be considered "girls". The owner watered the whisky down to a point where it was little more than flavored water, and the beer was usually flat. There was a Faro game in progress most nights but, other than the house, there were few winners. Even so most of the patrons did not complain, it was after all, the only saloon in town. Things changed, at least for him, one evening about six weeks after he arrived.

Two men came to the bar and bought a bottle of whisky. He gave them a bottle and two glasses. There were no tables as such, but there were a number of chairs scattered around the place and a few upturned empty barrels where men could set their drinks or play a hand or two of poker. Pete noticed that, unlike most of the customers here, the men had plenty of money, each having a roll of bills in his pocket probably totaling hundred dollars or more. The taller of the two took a mouthful of the whisky and spat it out. He came to the bar wielding a gun and demanding real whisky not that watered down horse piss. Pete knew better than to argue when there was a gun pointed at him and called for the owner.

"You take it up with him mister, " he said calmly, "I just work here".

For a moment he thought the man was going to shoot him, but at the last minute the stranger changed his mind and reached over the counter to grab him.

"Listen here, I got enough money to buy this place if I want to."

Turnball Carson, the owner, got there just in time to prevent further complications, and quietly gave the man two bottles of whisky from under the counter in exchange for another dollar. The two men withdrew to a dark corner and began to drink. Seeing that they had money to spare, Pete quietly told the girls, so that they might get to earn a little extra tonight. He thought no more about the two strangers because the evening was quite busy. He did notice them leaving with the girls and returning a short while later.

It was almost closing time and as Pete went around collecting up bottles and glasses, the men where still sitting laughing with the girls. Bearing no ill will towards the men, who were now well on the way to feeling happy, he stopped by the make shift table where they were sitting.

"Sorry about that mix up earlier," he said. "Most folks around here don't know how good whisky tastes anyway."

The tall skinny man with a hawk like face looked at him, "No problem, sit down and share a glass with us."

"Can't do that I'm afraid. I've to get this place cleaned up for the night."

"That man works you too hard, bet he doesn't pay you anything either." The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills, wanting to show what a real man could earn. The second man looked at him.

"Mr. Yancy told you to keep that hid," he said looking around as if expecting someone to come up behind them.

The mention of that name was enough to draw Pete's attention to their conversation.

"Mr. Yancy? Is that your boss? Sounds like I need to ask him for a job."

The first man got to feeling that maybe he had said too much. That whisky must have loosened his tongue more than he thought. Still it didn't really matter. No one in this hog-waller of a town was likely to know who Mr. Bart Yancy was.

Pete tried not to show his interest and continued picking up dirty beer mugs. He barely managed to maintain a neutral expression. After a few minutes he pulled Maizie, one of the working girls, aside, and asked her to carry some of the empty bottles to the bar for him. He followed with his hands full of glasses. When he got to the bar he spoke softly to her.

"Er Maizie" he hesitated, "did you get any business out of those strangers?"

She giggled and nodded her head.

"He's loaded, Pete. He said he'd take me on a buggy ride tomorrow."

"Do you think you could find out more about that job he has, I kind of need something that pays a little better than this."

She smiled at him. In spite of her worn out eyes and painted on smile she was a good person and had a genuine affection for Pete.

"I'll do what I can," she promised touching him on the arm as she placed the bottles on the bar.

"Well ..er.. just don't let him know I asked."

"Sure I can handle that."

Pete finished stacking chairs on tables and sweeping the floor until the strangers left the saloon. it wasn't long before Carson came to lock up - though how you could lock up something that was little more than a tent, Pete wasn't sure.

Next morning, it was almost noon before he awoke. He didn't have to be at work until later that afternoon so he walked along the only street in town, looking to see what the few stores had to offer. Mostly he was trying to think. The town had a small stage office, and there in the window was a notice that caught his eye. A reward was offered for any information leading to the arrest of the perpetrators of a bank robbery in Dodge City during which two people were murdered. Information should be sent to US Marshal Matt Dillon in Dodge City. He read it twice - then seeing no one else around he snatched it down and folded it so it would fit in his pocket. Now he knew how the stranger got his pocketful of money, and he knew who was the brain behind the robbery.

ooo000ooo

Maizie found him sitting in the only cafe in town. The food and the coffee were terrible, but there was no other choice. She was dressed in a tan colored skirt and white blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a braid and a broad brimmed hat sat perfectly on her head. A yellow ribbon tied under her chin in a big bow, held it firmly in place.

"I was looking for you, Pete." she smiled at him and he could clearly see the deep lines etched in her face. In the saloon at night there was not enough light, but here he figured she was a good ten years older than he was.

"Did you find anything?"

"Of course I did. Earned me a little money too. His boss's name is Bart Yancy, he recently bought a big ranch over in Colorado. Oh yes i already checked, he is married or has a woman, someone called Nina, so it's no good for me. Caney, that's the strangers name, drives for him. Sometimes wagons and recently a stage coach. He had to drive one to Dodge City a week or so ago, he was quite proud of that. I think something is strange about his story, Pete, I'm not sure it is all on the level, so maybe you should stay away."

"That's all you learned?"

"Pretty much. That's all about Yancy. I did learn some more about Caney though, but nothing that would interest you." She gave him a meaningful smile. "I think you're best off staying right here."

Pete nodded absent mindedly. He had some thinking to do.

"Thanks Maizie, you did great, I'll buy you a drink later."

He worked his regular shift that night because next day was Friday and he'd get paid. He felt no sense of allegiance to his boss. Turnbull Carson was a mean man who paid him very little for all the hours he worked.

He thought a lot more about Yancy and Nina that night. Yancy had married Nina, he wondered if that idea was Bart's or Nina's. Once again he felt such an anger, but knew there was little he could do about it. He took the circular from his pocket, the one about the bank robbery in Dodge City. He'd heard of that Marshal Dillon. Just maybe he could get some help in catching Yancy. His short stint as a deputy Sheriff had made him appreciate the law. Now maybe, even though he no longer wore a badge he could see that justice was done.


	6. Chapter 6

Snow

Chapter 6.

The Marshal's office was not a pleasant place to be right now, and Chester had been doing everything he could to avoid spending time there. Mr. Dillon, who was usually one of the easiest people to get along with, was irritable and bad tempered. He knew this was the result of the man getting very little in the way of food or sleep for the last week. The Marshal had been riding every trail around Dodge City and much of western Kansas. Most days he had been gone from sun-up to way into the night, trying to pick up the trail of the outlaws responsible for killing the stage driver and passenger. The fact that the bank had been robbed right under his nose and a young woman taken hostage only added to his discontent. In spite of all his efforts he had found nothing other than the wrecked stagecoach and had concluded that the gang had split up and headed off in different directions, so picking out one track was impossible.

Chester had suggested sending out a circular offering a reward for any information leading to the arrest of those responsible. At first Matt did not want to do that, but eventually admitted it was the only course of action remaining. More than a week had passed since Chester had had the notices printed and sent around to all the stage offices in Kansas and surrounding countryside. So far no response had been forthcoming.

Matt sat down one more time to look over the large stack of wanted posters on his desk. He had already sifted through them twice, but for want of anything better to do, he started looking through them once more.

His mind was only half concentrating on the task in hand. He knew that this holdup was getting to him and taking over his life. He had snapped at Kitty that morning when she suggested he needed to take a break from it, and had chased Doc out of the office about an hour ago when he had suggested much the same thing. It was bad when a man began losing his temper with his friends.

He got up to pour a mug of coffee, and, through the window, caught sight of a young man pulling up outside the office. Matt watched as the newcomer sat there for a minute as if considering something before dismounting and tying his horse to the rail. He thought the stranger was about 25 or so, he stood about six foot tall and from the rig on his horse and his clothes he figured he was from Texas. The man hesitated yet again while staring at the sign on the wall declaring this to be the office of the US Marshal, Dodge City Kansas. Eventually he came to a decision, knocked on the door and entered.

Matt set the coffee pot he had been holding back on the stove.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Marshal Dillon?"

"Who wants to know?" The man appeared to think for a moment, almost changing his mind about something before he spoke again.

"My name's Hank Starr, Marshal." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. It was one of the circulars Chester had distributed. "I know who was responsible for this and where you can find him."

"Maybe you'd better sit down and tell me about it."

Matt turned a chair around so it was facing his desk and indicated that the stranger should sit there. He sat in his usual chair, back against the wall.

"Now suppose you tell me about it."

Pete Turner took a breath trying to organize his thoughts. there were some things he did not want to tell to the Marshal.

"Well it's like this. At one time I worked for a man named Bart Yancy. He now owns a ranch near Bent's Old Fort, over in Colorado, at least that's what I heard. I know for a fact that about a year ago he was responsible for taking down an army gold shipment. I had to leave Old Fort because he knew I figured out what he had done. He was going to kill me so I hid out in the Nations for a while. After a few months I went to the town of Liberal. You know where that is?

"I do, go on."

I got a job working in the saloon there until a few days ago. A couple of men rode in, they had a lot of money Marshal. Said their boss paid real well. His name was Bart Yancy. They even talked about having driven a stage coach into Dodge City."

"So you put all this together? " he thought for a moment. "There's not a lot of proof in your story, just your word and some circumstantial evidence."

Pete looked down and studied his hands. His eyes focused on his finger nails for a few moments. As he looked up he saw the wanted posters spread out across the Marshal's desk. There in bold print was his name on one of them. 'Pete Turner wanted for double murder'. There was a picture, but it was at least 3 years out of date. The description of him was pretty vague too. There as a note at the bottom of the circular, it was upside down to him but he read it easily. Last seen in Bent's Old Fort, Colorado, it said in smaller print. Certainly the Marshal would read it too. He had to leave.

"Tell you what Marshal," he said as he stood up, "I'm real tired, I had a long ride today. How about we talk about it more in the morning?" He needed to get out of here. The only thing for him to do was to go get Yancy himself, before the law caught up with Pete Turner. That might happen really soon if the lawman across the desk from him, happened to glance down and see the poster he had just read.

Matt was reluctant to let the man go. The story he had heard was obviously missing a lot of details, maybe that was deliberate . Perhaps Mr. Starr was hiding something. He knew he had no reason to lock the man up, but he sure wanted to talk to him some more.

ooo000ooo

Pete had left the Marshal's office, trying not to run. He untied his Horse and led him down the street towards the livery, controlling his pace and waiting till he was out of sight before swinging up in the saddle and heading west. Once he was outside the City he urged his horse into a canter, knowing that Dillon would be after him just as soon as he read that poster. He knew he couldn't keep it up for long but he wanted to put distance behind him. If he could get to Yancy first and kill him, that was all that mattered now. One way or another, his life was over, but these next few days were going to be the ones that counted.

ooo000ooo

Something troubled Matt. He kind of liked the young man who had just left his office, but there was something about him that didn't add up. He filled his coffee cup one more time and went back to the desk where he had been searching through the stack of wanted posters. He couldn't concentrate and after a few minutes he stood up throwing the handful of circulars he was holding onto the floor in disgust. Maybe Kitty and Doc were right. He had to admit he was tired. Lack of food and sleep were taking a toll. He stretched, locking his fingers behind his head and thought about yet another cup of coffee but decided against it and gathered his gun belt and hat and went outside into the fading afternoon light.

In the Long Branch saloon the usual crowd of early evening customers were drifting in. Doc Adams navigated his way between the two groups of ranch hands standing by the door and seeing Kitty Russell talking to Clem at the bar decided it might be an opportunity for a free drink.

The saloon owner saw him before he got much further and indicated to the barkeep to pour the man a whisky.

Doc smiled and wiped his mustache with his hand.

"Well I didn't expect such a warm welcome," he said, lifting the glass in salute to her.

"Come on Doc, don't tell me that. I know you are always looking for a free drink." She laughed good naturedly.

"I actually came to ask you if you'd seen Matt."

"Hardly. For the last week he's been out riding the prairie or sitting in his office going through every wanted poster for the last five years."

"Hmmm." Adams looked serious, "if he doesn't give up soon this is going to wear him into the ground."

"I know it, but you can't tell him, he doesn't listen."

"Stubbornest man I ever knew," Doc added as he swallowed the last of his drink.

"You want another?" She indicated the empty glass he was holding.

"Oh no.. no I just wanted to let someone know that I was going out to Turkey Bend. Ben Wilson came off a horse he was training and it sounds like he broke his leg. I'll probably be gone five or six hours." He set the empty glass down on the bar for Clem to take. "I'll see you later Kitty," he said as he turned to go.

She nodded at him, "Be careful Doc."

As the physician was leaving the saloon, the Marshal they had been discussing was about to enter. Doc looked him up and down with a clinical eye.

"Doesn't look like you took my advice."

"What was that?"

"I thought I told you you needed to get some sleep."

"Oh that," Dillon replied. He was used to ignoring Doc's advice, even when he knew the man was right.

Doc shuffled his way along the boardwalk, black bag in hand. Matt watched him climb into his buggy and head out of town, then he pushed through the batwing doors and entered the Long Branch Saloon

He walked to the bar and stood where just moments before the physician had been.

"What's the matter with him?" His question was directed at Kitty. He stood next to her but turned to face the saloon.

"I guess he's worried about a patient," she told him.

"You want a beer Marshal?" Clem was holding a clean mug ready.

"No thanks, not just now." He turned back to the redhead standing next to him and faced the bar once more.

"How about taking me to supper?" she asked him.

"Doc been talking to you too?"

"Maybe, but he's right, half the people in town notice that you're looking tired and getting bad tempered."

Matt gave a wry look. "I've got a lot on my mind Kitty."

"Well you're not going to fix it by making yourself sick."

He knew she was right. He hadn't managed more than a dozen hours sleep all this last week and had missed many more meals than he'd eaten.

"All right," he relented. "How about now?"

Clem was working the bar and Sam would arrive any minute so Kitty agreed.

"Give me five minutes to get ready and you have a deal, Cowboy."

ooo000ooo

The meal at Delmonico's had been about average, but it pleased Kitty to see that once Matt started eating he consumed even more than his usual amount of food. She made no comment on that fact, just felt happy that he was at last eating something. Maybe the robbery would never be solved, but she knew it would not be for want of trying on Matt Dillon's part.

He had walked her back to the Long Branch then returned to his office just as it was dusk. The place was dark so he knew Chester had not been by or the lamps would have already been lit. He struck a match and one by one got them burning. It was then that he noticed all the circulars on the floor where he had thrown them earlier. He squatted down and began gathering them up. He found his eyes being drawn to one in particular. It was about a young man wanted for murder in a small Texas town quite near the Mexican border. A man and a woman had been shot just outside a small cantina three years ago but the circular had only been posted a few months back by the Sheriff in Bent's Old Fort, Colorado. That in itself was strange. The wanted man's name was Pete Turner, but his description matched that of Hank Starr who had stood in this very office a few hours earlier. Matt Dillon did not believe in coincidence. He sat down at the desk to read the poster again. The way he figured, it had just been lying there on the desk and his visitor had seen it, that was why he had been in such a hurry to leave.

Matt knew he needed to head to Bent's Old Fort. It was a little outside his territory but that didn't matter because he would be trailing a killer and possibly the man responsible for hijacking the Overland Stage. He would get everything ready for the trip and leave before sun up tomorrow.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Snow

Chapter 7

When Pete Turner rode into Dodge City, he'd had several ideas as to how he would get the Marshal to help bring Yancy to justice. Of course life never goes as planned and in the end he had decided just to walk into Dillon's office and tell him the truth - except of course about the killing outside the Cantina three years ago. He needed the lawman to trust him and confessing to a murder was not a good way to start that conversation. In the end all his ideas got blown away when he saw the poster. Now he would have to work quickly to make sure Yancy got what he deserved before someone placed rope around his own neck.

He figured it would be a matter of hours at most before the Marshal recognized his description on the wanted poster so he only had a short while to leave Dodge and start back to Colorado. He knew he could make the trip in less than three days if he didn't sleep for more than a few hours each night and provided his horse remained sound. At first he thought only of his own escape, but then he knew he had to get Yancy. The law man from Dodge would soon be tracking him, but in a way that was good. Pete knew he would need help to get Yancy and who better to provide that help than Matt Dillon, United States Marshal.

He crossed a branch of the Arkansas river about nightfall and lit a small fire. He allowed his horse to drink, then hobbled him for the night so the animal could graze on the small brown patches of grass that had somehow managed to survive in spite of the cooling weather and shortening days. He arranged his saddle and bedroll and lay down beneath the clear sky of early winter. For one reason or another he had lived outside for much of his adult life and the sight of the myriad of stars stretching across the darkened heavens never ceased to bring him peace. He decided then and there that hanging would be preferable to life in prison. He could not live without this sense of vastness.

It was barely light by the time he was back in the saddle next morning. He had extinguished his small camp fire, but left enough of it showing so that the lawman following him could not fail to pick up his trail. He was trying to make good speed, knowing he would have to cross the Arkansas at least twice more before reaching Old Bent's Fort. If the snow started it would make the trip too hazardous.

He rode all that day and rested some at night. It was gone noon the following day before he passed the Old Fort and headed south till he reached Yancy's Ranch. The man owned an enormous spread, probably a thousand acres or more. He knew now that much of the money he used to purchase all that land came from robberies and other illegal activities. Certainly a legitimate freight business would not support that many acres.

From the distance he could see a rocky rise behind the ranch house. It was there that he was headed now. He would watch and wait and hope that Dillon joined him soon.

It was late afternoon by the time he had hidden his horse amongst a tangle of bushes trees and rocks. He climbed the hill to seek a vantage point from where he could watch the house. He figured that Dillon was a few hours behind him but with the encroaching darkness the Marshal would probably stop for the night.

He daren't light a fire, but brought his bedroll and saddle blanket to help keep out the cold. He started to spread them out on the only smooth piece of ground he could find when he heard something behind him. It sounded like two rocks falling against each other. Maybe the Marshal had made better time than he thought. He was about to take cover and look when a sharp blow landed on his skull and he fell limply to the ground.

ooo000ooo

Marshal Dillon had been at the livery long before most of the town was awake. Kitty of course had asked him to be careful, warning that all this could just be a trap. He knew she spoke the truth but tried to convince her, and maybe himself, that he knew that wasn't so, and yes he would be careful. That really meant very little. As a lawman he always needed to be careful, it became second nature. All the same there were dangers that could not be avoided.

He had packed some beans, beef jerky and coffee in his saddle bags and before he left the stable poured some grain for his horse into a small sac and added it to the collection of survival gear he already had. He checked again, not that he was likely to have forgotten anything. He had filled two canteens with water and carried plenty of ammunition for both his Henry rifle and his colt pistol.

Quietly he led the buckskin horse through the big double doors and closed them behind him before he swung up into the saddle and headed west out of town. Moss Grimmick had seen him leave and said a prayer to any god that might be listening, hoping that the US Marshal from Dodge City would return home safely.

Matt found it surprisingly easy to follow the young drifters trail. At first he was grateful for that. It meant he could ride without having to get down from his horse every few miles to make sure he was still on track. After a while he realized it was a little too easy. He came across the remains of a campfire that had been completely extinguished but left partly visible. To anyone with half a mind it was like a sign post. It was then he decided not to get too close to his quarry, he needed space to make sure this was not a trap. It would not be the first time someone had led him out of town and tried a surprise ambush.

He presumed they were going to Bent's Old Fort from what Hank Starr / Pete Turner had told him. That meant at least two nights on the trail with very little sleep and less food. The nights were getting cold now and as he neared the Colorado line, the air began to feel like snow was on the way.

ooo000ooo

Pete Turner awoke to a big headache, apart from that and the fact that he couldn't see or move, he did not feel too bad. He soon realized that his lack of vision was because it was dark and as his eyes adjusted to the low light he began to pick out vague details. The inability to move did not improve so easily and came from the fact that he was securely tied to an old bed. He closed his eyes then opened them again just to make sure he was not imagining things, but nothing changed. He heard voices from another room. The only one he had heard before was that of the tall skinny man with the hawk like face, the man known as Caney who he had seen in the bar in Liberal.

He tried to strain his ears to catch some of the conversation. From what he could make out Yancy was not there and Caney was pleased with himself for catching so called Hank Starr. He was sure Mr. Yancy would give him a bonus for that.

He must have fallen asleep or passed out again. When he woke this time he knew it was daylight outside because he could see fingers of sunlight coming in through gaps in the walls. It was much colder now and he shivered.

It wasn't long before new voices were coming from the other room. He could hear Yancy's voice and a higher pitched woman's voice - it had to be Nina. After a while he found he could smell coffee and realized how thirsty he was. He thought of calling out but decided against it.

It wasn't long before the door leading from the other room burst open. The big unmistakeable figure of Bart Yancy stood there, hands on hips and a twisted smile on his face.

"You are a fool Mr. Turner." The deep voice reverberated through the small room. "Why did you come back here? Of course it won't make much difference, I have made sure the law is after you so even if I don't kill you, your life is over."

He came over to the bed and released the ropes that prevented him for moving.

"Come and have breakfast, Turner, and tell me where you've been and who you've been talking to. Caney and his friends are just out at the barn so don't try anything."

Slowly Pete stood up. He was a little dizzy at first and his head throbbed but he was not about to show that. His only desire now was an opportunity to kill this man. A man who had used him to gain information he used to break the law. A man who caused him to give up the only job he ever worked that made him feel like a man. Yancy was evil, he used people and had no respect for life. The only thing that mattered to Bart Yancy was taking what he wanted and not caring who got hurt along the way.

Slowly he made his way to the other room. Nina was cooking breakfast at the stove. She barely looked at him.

Yancy sat down at the table and indicated for Pete to do the same. He took his gun from its holster and laid it on the table in easy reach of his hand. It was a little to far away for Pete to grab it. He knew it was meant to taunt him as it lay there. That is what Yancy intended. Freedom so close and yet so far away. The man had a mean streak in him a mile wide.

"Bring us some coffee, woman!" he called to Nina.

Looking at her, Pete could tell that her life with Yancy had not been a happy one. She had a few fading bruises on her face and even though she wore a long sleeved dress, he could see burn marks around her wrists. The beautiful long braid she used to wear was gone, her hair was tangled and dirty now. It made him feel even sicker than he had before. He had to kill Yancy and get her out of here.

Nina brought two coffee cups to the table, she poured one for Yancy and timidly eased it towards him. Carefully she avoided Pete's eyes as she poured the second cup. He reached to take it, but instead of placing it on the table he grasped the cup firmly and tossed the hot contents into Yancy's face. He reached across the table to snatch the gun and met Yancy's hand as he was doing the same thing. There was a short struggle, a loud thud and then suddenly Pete felt Yancy's arm go limp. He looked up to see that Nina had grabbed a hot pan from the stove and thrust it down on the man's head. Yancy was dazed but not unconscious and he reached up to grab Nina's arm but Pete had the gun in his control now.

"Let her go Yancy," he called. He knew that firing the gun would attract the attention of Caney and the men in the barn, but he could not let that man get a hold of Nina and use her as a shield. He hardly had time to act as the the girl screamed while she was being pulled down towards the big bear of a man on the floor. Pete had a clear shot for this one second of time. He might not get another opportunity. He decided. The crack of the pistol reverberated through the room and Yancy collapsed back to the floor with a hole in his chest outlined by a small ring of crimson blood on his shirt.

"Get out of here fast," he yelled to the girl. "My horse is back behind the hill, take it and go. There's a US Marshal on the way from Dodge, he'll help you if you can find him."

He opened the front door. The barn was to his left, he pushed her out and made her go to the right.

"Run now, I'll hold them back for a while."

She barely rounded the corner of the building before Caney and friends came running from the barn. He ducked back inside and tried to bar the door. There wasn't much available, but anything would do to delay them for just a few minutes. He drug the table over towards the door then checked the gun to see how many bullets he had left. Only 2. No time to reload.

The men were already banging on the door - he had seen four of them heading towards the house. There was no hope for him, but if he could give Nina time to escape he would feel it was worth it.

They were pushing on the door now. He fired twice using the two bullets. They pierced the door but didn't hit anyone, and it didn't slow the men down any. He heard Caney call out.

"Mr. Yancy, what's happening, are you all right?"

Pete smiled to himself, dead men don't reply, he thought.

Another half minute passed and the men were in the room with him. They saw the boss's body on the floor and Caney took it upon himself to fight Pete. The tall man was good with his fists and enjoyed using them. it wasn't long before Pete found himself completely overpowered and being pulled to his feet so someone could slam a fist into his stomach. They thought he was out cold and threw him to the ground, then turned their attention to Yancy. They were shocked to find him dead and then started looking for the girl. In the confusion they searched the other rooms of the house and for a few minutes forgot about Pete Turner. Carefully he hauled himself to his feet and staggered out the door. If he could get to the barn maybe he could grab a horse and get out of this place.

Somehow his legs managed to carry him to the barn. His belly hurt like crazy and he thought that any minute he would throw up, but there was no time. A fairly fresh looking mount was standing in the first stall. No time for a saddle, he grabbed the lead rope that was hitched to a ring in the wall. Using the stall wall for assistance he swung himself up on the animal's back and made for the exit. As soon as he was outside he urged the animal into a flat out gallop while bending low over its withers. He hardly got fifty feet from the barn when a volley of shots broke out. He thought he was going to get away, but then all of a sudden a fire started in his hip bone. He had to cling on to the horse, he knew that much, and managed to do so for a while, but he could feel himself getting weaker. Worse still the snow he had been feeling in the air had started to fall. He knew that was fatal, because now he was leaving a clear trail where ever he went. All Yancy's men had to do was follow the tracks in the fresh snow. Sadly it was not falling fast enough to hide them before dark. His clouded brain remembered a creek up ahead. Maybe he could use an old trick to confuse them. He was now hanging around the horses neck but desperation gave him the strength to stay there. He could see the creek just a little way ahead. Somehow he guided the horse into the water before his grip loosened and he fell. The horse sensing freedom took off across the creek and ran up the other bank. From there he disappeared up the trail leaving a nice set of prints for Yancy's men to follow.

Pete tried to stand but couldn't. His right leg would not cooperate. Somehow he crawled to the edge of the creek. There was a low hanging tree limb and using his last ounce of energy he pulled himself up and out of the water. He was cold now, but somehow that dulled the pain. He didn't want to leave tracks in the snow and that drove him forward along the branch till he got back to the main trunk. He could see now that the tree was lying on its side. He worked his way along till he reached an area where the ground below was sheltered and the snow had not settled. Carefully he allowed himself to slide to the ground where he laid, totally exhausted.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Snow

Chapter 8

Matt had been following the trail for two days now. The small collection of buildings known as Bent's Old Fort lay about two miles ahead. Instead of going straight on, the trail he was tracking turned slightly south. He followed, being even more vigilant now. He had travelled about two miles in this new direction when he saw a rider heading towards him. He checked that his gun was easily accessible, but then as the rider came closer he saw that it was a woman. He rode forward to meet her and could see that her clothes were torn and she was scared.

"Whoa there!" he called to her.

She looked up as if realizing for the first time that someone else was there.

"Can I help you Ma'am?" he asked coming even closer to her.

At first he thought she was going to run from him, but a look came over her face, a sudden relief. It took her a minute to speak. He waited allowing her to recover her senses.

"Are you the Marshal from Dodge City?" she finally managed to say.

"I am. Name's Matt Dillon, can I help you." As he looked at her, he thought she could be the woman from the stage he had seen that evening.

She looked like she was going to break down and cry. He helped her down from her horse and took her over to a small group of rocks just off the road.

"Catch your breath and tell me what's happened."

They both sat there and he spoke quietly to her while taking the lid off a canteen and offering her a drink. She took a few swallows and then started to tell him about Hank and Yancy and the Ranch House where she had been a virtual prisoner for the last 6 months or more, and how she had been beaten and used by Yancy and his men. She told how Yancy had made her ride the stage into Dodge that night and held her as a hostage while they escaped. She had almost wished someone had killed her then.

She explained how Hank had arrived at the ranch and killed Yancy in a fight, then afterwards how he had helped her escape, probably at the cost of his own life.

"Yancy's gang are still there Marshal. There is one man, tall and thin, he was driving the stage that night. His name is Caney. You need to get him, he is a cruel man. He hurt me many times."

She dabbed the tears from her face with the bandana he offered her, then recovered her composure and returned it to him.

"I'll be all right now," she said "I have friends in Bent's Fort once I get there." He wanted to escort her back to the small town but she begged him to go on to the ranch and see what was happening to Hank.

Dillon was reluctant to leave the young woman, but she convinced him she would be all right and it was more urgent that he continue heading south towards Yancy's Ranch.

Finally he agreed and helped her back up on her horse.

"Thank you for listening Marshal, I feel better now. Please go on to the ranch and get Caney, I'll even come to Dodge to testify against hm if there's a trial. The other men are not bad - just easily led. They were never mean to me like he was."

He watched as she rode north towards the small town. He still felt bad about leaving her, but knew he had to go on.

ooo000ooo

There was a small creek ahead and he decided to rest for a few minutes to allow the buckskin to drink. Snow had already started falling and the temperature was dropping, it was not going to be a comfortable night if he didn't find shelter before dark. He couldn't be more than three or four miles from the ranch now, maybe he could get there before the light faded and find a place from where he could watch the place.

He was about to mount up again and continue on his way when he heard a noise not too far away. It almost sounded like an animal, maybe caught in a trap. Carefully, gun in hand he worked his way towards the source of the sound. It came again, louder now and definitely something, or someone, in pain. He quickened his pace. The snow was falling faster, changing the look of the landscape and dampening the sound he was hearing. Then there was a scream, definitely human, he was sure of that now.

"Hello," he called, "where are you?"

The only reply was a groan but it was close by. Then he saw it. A man was laying by the side of a fallen tree, it was the same man who had come to his office in Dodge City. Hank Starr or maybe Pete Turner.

He went to him, squatting on the ground beside him.

"What happened?" he asked.

The man looked at him with eyes glazed by pain and fever.

"Marshal?"

"Yeh. Take it easy now, I'm gonna figure a way to get you out of here."

"No, no, don't move me."

"You need a doctor."

"There's not one within a day's ride."

"I'll fix a travois."

"What for?" He took a long breath, "So the law can hang me?"

Dillon looked at the growing red stain on the man's pants. He tore the fabric open and took his bandana and pressed it to the wound. It was getting so cold now that blood was oozing very slowly. The man was shivering, whether from cold or fever he didn't know.

"I'm gonna try to make you more comfortable, lie still."

Matt went back to where his horse was still ground-tied. He picked up the reins and led the animal back to the cover of the trees. He removed the saddle and bedroll and carried them both to where the injured man lay. Carefully he managed to get Hank/Pete onto the bedroll and covered with the saddle blanket. It was about all he could do. The man seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness and Matt felt helpless. He managed to start a small fire, it wouldn't last long but maybe he could make some coffee. He was halfway through his task when Hank spoke. His voice was amazingly strong for someone in his condition.

"What made you become a lawman, Marshal?"

"Oh I don't know, it was a job and I needed one."

"It's more than that isn't it? Maybe to some men it's just a job, but not to you."

"You should be saving your strength, not trying to talk."

Matt was good at evading that type of question, he'd had a lot of practice. He always claimed that being a lawman was just a job, but he knew it was a lot more than that. It was a job that was part of his identity. He wouldn't be Matt Dillon without it. It was not an easy job, not one he would choose and much of the time one he hated. Hated when he was forced to kill, hated seeing men die a useless death, and hated how it controlled his life. Somehow he had been given the skills needed to help bring law and order to a frontier that fought against it every inch of the way. He remembered the time he had tried to quit. Chester had come to get him, came to make him put the gun back on and go after a killer. He remembered his assistant's pleading words.

" _I_ _'_ _d do it if I could, Mr. Dillon, but I cain_ _'_ _t, I just ain_ _'_ _t good enough. Most men ain_ _'_ _t but you are. it_ _'_ _s kinda too bad for you that you are, but there ain_ _'_ _t a thing in the world you can do about it, its too late_."1

Too late. The words echoed in his head now, just as they had many times since. He remembered taking his gun belt from Chester's hands. He remembered the familiar feel of the worn leather and the heaviness of the gun. As he fastened the buckle around his waist he knew it was indeed too late. The gun and the badge he wore would control his life from then on. He had had no choice.

A voice interrupted his memory, the voice of a dying man. It brought him back to the present.

"I wore a star for a while. Bet you would never had guessed that."

Silence hung at the end of those words as the man went quiet again. Matt hoped his previous line of questioning was over. After a few minutes silence, Pete started again.

"I was a deputy Sheriff in Bent's Old Fort." He gave a sad laugh and it quickly turned into a cough.

Dillon said nothing, just sat there poking at the fire, trying to keep it going long enough to boil the coffee. The memories continued to stir in his head as if someone was poking them to keep them alive, just like embers in the fire.

"I felt good wearing that star." The man seemed determined to talk even though he had very little strength left. "Most of my work was delivering papers and breaking up fights in the the two saloons in town. But one time I did stop a man from holding up the general store." Again he paused to take a breath. "I felt part of something, helping the town grow and seeing that people were safe. If thing's hadn't turned out how they did," again he stopped for a breath, "I might still be wearing that badge."

There was a longer pause. Matt thought Pete had passed out, but eventually the man continued.

"I watched you in Dodge City, Marshal."

Matt continued his interest in the fire.

"I watched you for two days before I came to see you. I had to see what kind of man you were. People in that town respect you, they owe a lot to you and most of them know it."

Matt tried to change the subject. "I'll have some coffee ready in a minute, thought you might like some."

There was a long silence. He poured the hot liquid into a metal cup and helped Pete sit up a little so he could drink. The man took several mouthfuls then declined any more.

"You don't make the best coffee I've ever tasted, but at least its hot."

Dillon poured the rest of the brew into the cup and sat back to drink it himself. The warmth it gave was good - he knew it was going to be a long cold night.

"We need to get you into town - or at least to some kind of shelter."

"No Marshal, I couldn't stand to be moved. I don't have much longer. It's alright. Dying like this is better than hanging at the end of a rope.

"Tell me what happened back in Texas." If the conversation was going to continue, Matt preferred to be asking questions. It was a while before his patient answered and he looked to make sure he was still breathing.

"It was a woman, Marshal. Have you ever really loved a woman?"

Again Matt thought of his usual answer, "A man who wears a badge has no right to love a woman or have a family."

"I know you don't believe that Marshal, remember I watched you for two days. I saw who your friends are and who is ...special to you."

There was another short interval before Hank continued. "My real name is Pete Turner, the one on that wanted poster, although you had already figured that hadn't you?"

"Yes" At least he could answer that question honestly.

"I had a girl, her name was Rosita. I thought she loved me and we were going to be married. I saved my money and bought her a ring." Again there was a pause and stillness hung between them till he started again, "The night I went to give it to her I found her with another man. I didn't mean to kill them both, I just was out of control, I couldn't stand thought of her being there like that with another man."

Again the silence returned and Matt looked over to see a drop of moisture on the man's cheek. It glistened in the cold air.

"Later I figured out that she hadn't been cheating on me, she was just doing her job. Just another job, like being a lawman or a rancher."

"You don't have to tell me about it now."

"Yes I do. I want you to know. And then there was Nina. I thought she was mine but Yancy took her away."

"That was the woman I met on the road?"

Pete nodded.

"You're lucky Marshal, you have a woman and she is all yours. No one could take her from you. Her eyes light up when she sees you and she is always there waiting for you, worrying about you. I've seen how you look at her too, you never say stuff in words, but I saw."

Matt started to deny that he had anyone.

"I'm a dying man Marshal. Don't lie to me."

There was no answer to that. The pair sat in silence once more until Pete began to shiver. Matt tucked the saddle blanket tighter around him.

"Stay with me, Dillon. I'm scared to die alone."

"I'm here. I won't leave"

Very few words were exchanged after that. There were times when the man cried out in pain and Matt stretched out a hand and touched his shoulder till the spasm passed.

Dillon himself was cold. With no bedroll or blanket he sat huddled in his trail coat. The snow had stopped now and he sat listening to the gentle crackling of frozen branches in the white stillness.

"Marshal!" The voice was very soft now. "I killed Yancy. He was the one who planned everything. You'll have to get Caney for me. Tall skinny man, hawk like face, evil, likes to hurt people."

"I'll find him."

"Promise?" the voice was fainter still. Two more breaths were all the man took.

"I promise." What good was a promise to a dead man? He made it anyway. There had been something about Pete Turner that he liked. He was a good man who got steered down the wrong path by one misfortune. Matt knew it could have been his story also, but by some twist of fate, he had avoided those mistakes.

TBC

1 _Bloody Hands. Season 2_


	9. Chapter 9

Snow

Chapter 9.

The frozen ground did not make digging a grave easy, and in the end Matt found some rocks and covered the dead man. There was no way to make a marker or a headstone so after putting the last rock in place, he stood for a moment, hat in hand and head bowed. He knew the man had murdered, he knew he had been wrong, but even so there was good in Pete Turner that could so easily have been put to better use.

Snow covered the ground and there was no grass for the buckskin to graze. He had given the animal a couple of handfuls of the grain from his saddle bag a little earlier and now mounting up he set out in the direction of the ranch that Pete Turner had described to him.

He could not get the young man out of his mind. A man with so much good in him, yet one terrible mistake as a youth had ultimately led to his destruction. Matt kept seeing a whole line of men with similar stories. Men who had made one mistake that kept multiplying until, like a house of cards, it all collapsed. Many of those men had died by his hand. He could see their faces, one after the other. Many of them he had begged not to fight him, but they had and he had watched them fall, usually to the colt pistol that now hung by his side. He tried to push the visions from his mind, he had to concentrate on the task in hand.

In less than an hour he found the place that Turner had told him about. The hill behind would offer good cover from which to watch the house. By midday most of the snow had melted and the chill of the night before had gone from the air.

He sat watching for a good hour but saw no movement of any kind. Finally he began working his way down the hill towards the building. He frequently stopped to listen but heard nothing. There was a small window on the back of the house and after a while he risked taking a look inside. No-one was there. The house appeared deserted. Likewise the barn was empty. There was a good stack of hay so he took an armful up to his horse who was sheltered near the base of the hill. If no one returned by nightfall he might consider sleeping in the barn. Another night outside in the freezing temperature did not appeal to him.

He sat on the hill and waited once more. It was late in the afternoon by the time four riders returned leading a fifth horse behind them. He recognized one of the men, the tall skinny one with the hawk like face. He had seen him driving the stage that night in Dodge.

He could hear their voices. They seemed to be complaining and arguing about something but he couldn't make out the words. He sat there, watching for a while before one man came from the house and led the horses to the barn.

He left the hillside and made his way to the barn. He drew his pistol and entered. The man tending the horses wasn't much more than a boy. Maybe there was still hope for him if he could send him on his way.

He crept into the barn and came up behind the stranger, holding his gun into the man's back.

"Just be quiet son and you won't get hurt."

The boy spun around and was about to scream.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. I'm the US Marshal from Dodge City, and I've been tracking men responsible for hijacking a stage and murdering the occupants. You don't want to get yourself involved in that. If you leave now I won't be coming after you."

The young man stood there, stunned. Matt figured he couldn't be more that nineteen. He waved his gun indicating the horses.

"Which one of those is yours?"

The boy indicated a sorrel gelding.

"Tack him up and get out of here."

The boy didn't move. Matt opened his jacket to reveal the badge on his chest.

"This badge says I can arrest you for hanging around with those men in there. I don't want to do that and I don't want you to get hurt, so just do as I say." He spoke quietly but with a lot of determination behind his words. He didn't want to see another young life wasted.

The boy remained rooted to the ground and Matt began to think he would have to knock him out and tie him up. The boy was considering his options, it took him a few minutes.

"I'll do as you say Mister."

"Good, and be careful who you associate with in future."

"Yessir."

Matt watched him carefully, waiting for any wrong move as the boy moved slowly to retrieve his saddle. At last he was done.

"Now leave quietly, go back behind the house where no one will see you."

Surprisingly the boy did as he was told. Matt was pleased - one less man to fight or kill. He looked longingly at the big pile of hay in one of the stalls, he sure could do with some sleep, it was very tempting, but he had work to do. He had made a promise.

The relative warmth and quiet in the barn made him sleepy. Once or twice he almost dozed off but knew that could be fatal. It must have been about an hour later when another man came walking across the short distance from the house to the barn.

"Hey Tucker, what's keeping you in there?" The man was shouting from the front door of the house.

Of course he got no answer and started towards the big doors of the barn.

It must have been horses whinnying that woke the Marshal from a half doze. He was alert in a fraction of a second and looking through the small gap between the doors. A man was approaching, not the one named Caney, but a short stocky man wearing a six shooter low on his hip.

Matt waited for him to open the door and enter. He swung round behind him closing the door and reaching for the man's gun. Lack of sleep had slowed his reflexes and he was surprised when the man grabbed his arm and pulled him off balance. in a moment they were rolling on the ground, a tangle of flying limbs trying to get the advantage. At last Dillon managed to get the upper hand and subdued his adversary by means of a powerful right fist to the jaw.

"You wanna go another round mister or are you going to do as I say?"

The man was stunned for a moment he flexed his jaw and touched his face with his hand.

"I'm done, for now."

"What's your name?"

"Who are you mister. You just walk in off the prairie looking for a fight?"

"Nope, I'm a United States Marshal. Matt Dillon out of Dodge City."

"You're a little out of your territory aren't you?"

"I'm here to arrest your friend Caney. Now tell me your name."

"Will Rockingham, Marshal. But you got it wrong, Caney ain't my friend, I don't think he's anybody's friend."

"All right, Will, here's what you can do. Go call Caney and get him to come out here. Stand just outside the door and remember I've got a gun aimed at your head."

Rockingham played his part well. He called to Caney telling him that one of the horses had trampled the kid and he was in a bad way. Matt watched as the door to the cabin opened and the tall skinny man came striding towards the barn.

"Do I have to do everything?" he was saying. "Is that boy too stupid to put a few horses up without getting hurt?"

Rockingham walked back inside through the barn door, with Caney following close behind. Now Matt saw him close up he knew for sure that he was the man who he'd seen driving the stage that night in Dodge. He stepped out of the shadow and before Caney even knew he was there he had removed the man's gun from its holster.

"Put your hands up Caney, you're under arrest."

The man spun around and saw Dillon standing there with a gun pointed right at him.

"Who the heck are you?"

"Matt Dillon. Marshal out of Dodge City. I saw you that night you were driving the stage after the bank robbery there. I saw you clear as day. I'm taking you back to stand trial."

Caney let out a guttural laugh.

"That's funny Marshal, I only see one of you, how do you think you're going to take me anywhere?"

While Caney was speaking he launched himself at Dillon. The Marshal took a step to the side, raised his gun and brought it down on Caney's skull. He looked up to see Will Rockingham still standing there.

"It ain't gonna be that easy Marshal, there's one man left back in the house and that's his brother Sloane. You'll have to take both of them."

Matt wasn't sure if he could trust Rockingham. "Tell me what part you play in this."

As he spoke he looked around the barn for a rope and tossed it to the man telling him to hog-tie Caney who was still unconscious on the floor.

Will Rockingham talked as he did what he was instructed. "I came to work at the ranch about a month ago, just as a hired hand. I had no idea what was going on other than raising cattle. You gotta believe me on that. By the time I figured something else was going on I was too scared to leave. Then some guy showed up and killed Yancy. There was a girl working here too. She was mostly in the house, but she's gone now. That's all I know."

Matt was fairly convinced that he was telling the truth. He might know more, but right now his instinct told him to let the man go. He handed him the gun he'd taken from him earlier.

"Here, take your gun and ride out of here."

Rockingham was about to take his gun when the barn door opened and another man burst in. Because of the confusion they had not heard him approach.

The new man saw Caney on the floor and two other men standing there. He pulled his gun and started firing. Dillon ducked down behind a hay bale, but Will Rockingham was slower, and he fell to the floor.

Matt called out to the man.

"I'm a United States Marshal and I'm here to arrest Caney. Throw your gun down."

Far from following instructions, the man continued firing. Dillon felt a burning in his left arm. He knew it was jut a graze and didn't take his eyes off the newcomer to check. Finally he got a good sight on the man and fired. The intruder fell backwards, clutching his chest. Matt waited a moment then ran to pick up the gun that had fallen from his hand. The man was dead that was certain - Matt's bullet had found its mark in the center of his chest. He turned back to check on Rockingham, he was still alive but barely so. The noise had aroused the Caney who was still tied up on the floor. He struggled to rise, but the rope restrained him.

"You just stay where you are." Matt told him, "I'll deal with you in a minute."

He went to check on Rockingham whose breathing was accompanied by a rasping sound.

"Guess I should have left sooner," he said as he fell back limply and Matt knew he now had two more people to bury, two more faces to add to his memories.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Snow

Chapter 10

It was a long ride back to Dodge. The weather had turned much colder and several times snow started coming down. Luckily no major blizzard developed. Matt thought of the three men he had buried. Killing was something he detested, even when it was justified by law. There hadn't been anything he could have done to prevent any one of those deaths, but the thought of it all made him feel sick. His left arm was sore from where Sloane's bullet grazed a three inch path from just above his elbow towards his shoulder but there wasn't much he could do about that either.

Caney kept up a barrage of insults and threats for two days. Matt felt an overwhelming desire to pull him off his horse and backhand him across the mouth, but as long as he wore that badge and Caney was his prisoner he couldn't let his personal desires have their way. After Caney had tried jumping him for the second time, he tied the man to his saddle. It would have been dangerous if for any reason the horse had tripped and fallen, but Matt knew he was no longer sufficiently alert to watch the prisoner constantly.

It was late in the afternoon, three days after they left Yancy's place when they rode into Dodge. By the time they hit Front Street, he was half asleep in the saddle. It took him a few seconds to recognize when Chester approached the horses.

"Here let me help you down off of there, Mr. Dillon."

He blinked his eyes a few times before answering. "No I'm fine Chester, just lock him up."

He drew his peacemaker from its holster and aimed it straight at Caney.

"One wrong move out of you and I'll shoot."

Chester began untying the ropes that held Caney to his saddle. When he had finished, Matt took his Henry rifle from the scabbard and handed it to Chester.

"If he breaths wrong, shoot him," he ordered his assistant.

He holstered his pistol and carefully eased himself from the saddle. Somehow he made it to the cot in the office and collapsed onto it still wearing his boots, coat and six-gun.

Caney was still complaining and swearing when Chester locked the cell door. By the time he closed the outer door to the cells and hung the key on the hook, his boss was sound asleep. He quietly closed the outer door as he left to take the horses to the livery.

ooo000ooo

It was already dark outside by the time Matt awoke. Kitty had left him a note saying she had a hot bath and and a comfortable bed waiting for him. He had not even heard her stop by. Still tired and bleary eyed, he made his way along Front Street to the Long Branch. The thought of a hot bath to relax his saddle weary muscles and wash away a weeks worth of trail dirt was irresistible. Of course the idea of a comfortable bed was also inviting.

By the time he had bathed and shaved and Kitty had cleaned the wound on his arm, he was beginning to feel more human. They sat sipping a fine whisky she had ordered 'special delivery' from St. Louis some while back. It was expensive, slightly smokey and smooth at the same time. She kept it for special occasions.

Finally after a second glass of the fine liquid, Matt began to talk. Kitty had already asked him how the trip went. He didn't say much but she knew to give him time.

"Kitty, do you remember the time I quit this job and you and I went fishing down by Silver Creek?"

She laughed, "Sure I do Matt. It was a beautiful day, you were happy and relaxed and we caught a whole sac full of fish."

"You remember how Chester came to get me. Some man named Stanger had killed one of the girls and was threatening to shoot up the town."

"Sure i remember."

"Chester told me I was the only man who could do this job, and I believed him. I put my gun back on and rode back to Dodge."

Kitty didn't say anything, she knew there was more to come and he needed time to get it out.

"I hated doing it, I hated the killing and the fighting, but I came back anyway. Things haven't changed much, I still feel that way. Sometimes I think I should never have taken that ride, I should have gone the other way." Again he stopped for a moment and took another sip of the liquid.

"Three men died this time. At least one of them deserved to die, but the others I don't know. It doesn't make any difference, I still watched three men die."

There was a pause while he gazed into the shot glass in his hand.

"It doesn't get any easier, Kitty. I should have quit back then because there is no way for me to quit now. The more I stay in this job the harder it is to walk out."

The silence was longer this time. She watched as he sank deeper into thought. About five minutes passed and finally she had to say something. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder she got closer to him and spoke softly.

"You need to get some rest, things won't look so bleak in the morning."

"That's the one thing that keeps me going Kitty. I know I have you waiting here for me when I get home. Those other men didn't have that. "

"Come on Matt - its time you slept. I'll be back after a while, I'll ask Chester to make rounds tonight."

He sank into the soft clean covers and closed his eyes. Visions of gunfire and men dying crowded his mind and he thought he would never get rid of them. He didn't know for how long they continued before he fell into a restless sleep. Somewhere in the night he felt her come to him, quietly joining him beneath the warm quilts. Snow was falling outside, it dampened the sounds of Front Street outside the window. It also quieted the gunfire in his head. He reached over and pulled her to him. He could never tell her with words how much she meant to him, but there in the the big iron bed, beneath the warmth of the delicate sheets and blankets he would manage to show her.

End


End file.
